ANOTHER GUNNY G BLOG!

Thursday, December 14, 2006

Ten major wars and two hundred minor actions comprise the history of the United States Marine Corps, and parallel the history of America itself. "U.S. Marines in Action" provides a comprehensive and stirring account of the activities of the military corps that has become synonymous with guts and glory. Fehrenbach dramatizes the incredible heroism of the leathernecks over two centuries of peacekeeping missions in every quarter of the globe.

FOREWORD

This book does not purport to be a history of the United States Marine Corps, which has served in twelve major wars and more than two hundred lesser actions.

It is, instead, the record of certain significant Marine actions which illustrate Marine history as a whole. These incidents and battles do not have significance for Marines alone, but for all Americans.

They are part of our own history, our national story. However, they have largely been forgotten, because Americans have an imperfect sense of our past.

The men in these pages run curiously to type, as that splendid communicator on U.S. Marines, Colonel Thomason wrote. Most of them are professional soldiers; many are of that ubiquitous type without which no standing military body can exist: the professional private.

The gallantry of Marine officers is well-documented. The efficiency of Marine NCOs is indisputable. But still, without the professional private there would be no Marine Corps. He is the man who gets and does the dirty jobs. He is the man who carries them through, without much pay, with little recognition.

He is the Marine who sweats on the rifle range while the drums are silent, and the fires of patriotism not yet lit. He is not the gallant volunteer who rushes into the grandeur and tragedy of war, then, when the war is done, says to hell with it till next time.

He knows, as surely as the sun must rise, there will be a next time, and he prepares for it.

He likes the comradeship of the men around him; he likes the close-knit, parochial community of arms. If war is his occupation, the service is his home. Above all else, the most important thing in his life is the Corps. The Corps gives his life meaning; in return, he gives it his life. And it is a fact that many men, reservists and sometimes Marines, find their service as the defining moment of their lives. Once a Marine, always a Marine.

The men in these pages generally are not imaginative, nor are they sensitive to all the currents around them. Political correctness passed them by. Those who constantly visualize their own blood staining the earth rarely become professional soldiers. Since war is their occupation, most of these men do not much wonder at the tasks they are asked to do. They do not muse over the metaphysical or the meaning of it all, nor does combat come to them as a shock. Their eye on the enemy, until he is proven dead.

When this book was researched most of the Marines depicted in these actions were still living. Most--this was a different age and culture--for various reasons had no wish to be named. Therefore many names were changed. For example, the man identified as Corporal Cherry Reed in the Okinawa action, was the Honorable Blair "Bruzzy" Reeves, last Justice of the Texas Court of Appeals. When the book was first printed, he was entering on his political career and asked me to change his name, so that no one might think he was trading on his heroism. Aurtre temps, autre moeurs.

In the Old Corps few men got medals for doing their job--unlike today, when a soldier who has never heard a shot fired in anger may sprout rows of ribbons.

The names of officers, company commanders and above, which are recorded in history, have not been changed.

Few of these men are now alive. However, Lieutenant Colonel Ray Davis, now General, USMC-retired, was still erect and hearty when I saw him at the proceedings of the United States Naval Institute where I spoke in March, 1999.

Yet, the breed survives. Old and new, the country and the Corps have always needed this breed of man throughout our past.

“The glaring omission is the 300,000 (Southern) Americans who were killedby the Lincoln regime from 1861–1865. According to some conservativeestimates, some 50,000 Southern civilians were also killed…For (attemptingto leave the union) they had to be invaded, killed by the hundreds ofthousands, conquered, occupied, and re-educated over and over again.”

My editorial comment was something to the effect that one can not deny theeffectiveness of that "re-education." How else do you explain the factthat young, peach faced, Southern kids have died in gross disproportion totheir numbers in the over all population in all of the Yankee occupationgovernment's imperialistic wars since then?

Smokey offered an answer:

“It is the urge to eat at the same table.

“It is something I have wondered about for most of my life. Nearly everyrelative I have still has strong emotional ties to the Confederacy. Andyet, they (we) enlist at the first opportunity. I would posit that humannature is more likely the root of such contradictive behavior thanre-education, or at least part and parcel to the phenomenon.

“The South was, and to an extent is, a warrior culture. Young men raisedon the values of warriors look for an outlet. They will look for the goodto justify the cause, and ignore the contradictions. And once yourgrandfather or father or uncle or cousin does it..... it's that mucheasier. The urge to follow in the footsteps of heroes is strong, even whenyour heroes later say, "don't do it, it's a fool's choice."

“When you grow up in a family full of veterans, dead and living, there isa hell of an urge to be able to eat at the same table and talk as an equalamong men/warriors.

“Until those values that make Southern culture worthwhile are dead anddispersed, Southern men will answer the call, and ignore thecontradictions at the heart of the matter—or, until the call is soundedagain, by their own nation, for true freedom.”

This seems to be a case of old Smokey just not being quite ready yet toadmit that the whole damned clan has been duped.

In all seriousness (although chiding Smokey is great fun) this raisesquestions that are much to important to be so flightily brushed aside.Besides, I too feel honored to sit at that table. In fact, the only men Icare to associate with are from that mold. Smokey’s take is notnecessarily incompatible with mine—it just does not get to answers for theultimate question. Where did the clan get the idea in the first place?What was ultimately responsible?

Before attempting to get to the bottom of those questions, I need toclarify some of the terms. “Culture” and “values” are NOT a part of “humannature?” Race and culture are commonly confused and, as a result, areimproperly used as synonyms. Race is genetically determined. Genesdetermine the morphology and physiology of the organs of the body. That,of course, includes the brain which influences certain fundamentalbehaviors (basic intelligence and the propensity for crime, for example).In much the same way, “human nature” (or call it nature’s law or thenature of man, if you will) is universal. It applies to all men at allplaces and in all times. Murder and mayhem are violations of “nature’slaw.”

On the other hand, “culture” and “values” are learned behaviors. Cultureis the sum total of everything (art, music, language, literature, etc)that characterizes a group of people. As such, it is learned. Again,history supports this hypothesis with regard to “Southern culture” andmilitary service to the Yankee occupier. Serving in the Yankee occupier’smilitary was NOT a part of Southern culture in 1865. (How many Southernmales were willing to voluntarily join the genocide of the Plains Indianusing the same tactics that had been suffered upon them and theirfamilies?) Apparently that “value” (or “cultural trait”) has changed as isevidenced by the fact that Southerners have died in much greaterproportion than their representation in the general population in all ofthe Yankee occupier’s modern imperialistic wars.

So, if the “warrior culture” is not genetic but learned behavior, and ifit is passed down through generations, then at some point in time, a(some) member(s) of the clan had to be persuaded-taught that somehowsacrificing himself in the name of Yankee Imperialism was a good and nobledeed. How did that happen?

The key has to lie somewhere within the apparatus and nature of the Stateitself. Every State to have ever come into existence did so throughconquest, expropriation and exploitation—history records no exception.

Coercive exploitation creates victims (malcontents). Yet on the otherhand, the existence of the State ultimately depends on public opinion. Itis impossible to quell resistance with force alone, especially in thenormal cases where small minorities expropriate and exploit much largergroups of people than themselves. Obviously, such an operation (as Statesponsored robbery and murder) must have public support in addition to acoercive force capability.

Most of the population must believe that the State is legitimate. Publicopinion in support of the State acts as a counterbalance to the resistanceof victimized property owners and leaves the appearance that resistance isfutile. So, the State’s goal is to maximize wealth and income acquired byexploitation. And to do this it must create favorable public opinion as toits own legitimacy.

There are two primary methods that the state uses to accomplish this goal.The first is ideological propaganda. The State spends a great deal of timeand stolen resources on persuading the public that things are not reallywhat they appear to be—e.g. It must exploit its subjects in order to make(or keep) them “free;” Taxes are really just “paying our fair share;” The“social contract” is a real one—even though nobody will put it intowriting; “We” are the government and, therefore, rule ourselves; Therewould be no law and order or security in the homeland if it were not forthe State; Without the State the poor would all starve and minoritieswould never be able to find a job; etc etc etc ad nauseum

Another technique the State uses to create favorable public opinion isredistribution. Instead of being strictly a parasite, the Stateredistributes a portion of its extorted property to people outside its ownapparatus. Of course, doing something nice for people is NOT the idea. Theidea is to corrupt them into being supportive. This is done for thepurpose of securing the existence and expansion of exploitation andexpropriation. These redistributive measures are applied to the productionof security (police, military, and the judicial system), transportation,communication, affirmative action, health and welfare, and so fourth.

But most important to this thesis is education. As above, the Statedepends, for its very survival, on public opinion with regard to itslegitimacy. Therefore, it absolutely must eliminate any unfavorableideological competition and insure that statist ideologies are propagated.Thus, the loop is closed as this is accomplished by the State’sredistributive provision of educational services.

So where, exactly, did the clan get the idea that “service” to theoccupier is noble and good? The process began somewhere along about theloyalty oath that was forced upon a tired and defeated people duringreconstruction. But the Yankee propagandists soon discovered that lesscoercive means were more effective. Thus, the forming of State-favorablepublic opinion is the sole purpose for the existence of the government’sschools—turning out little lock-step payers of “their fair share.” It isthe only reason those schools have elaborate playing fields and athleticfacilities—to produce strong male children willing to charge headlong intomachine gun fire on behalf of the lenders of blood money and theirbenefactors. It is the only reason kids say the “pledge of allegiance.” Itis why war is glorified in all manner of media. It is why history booksare, at best, a collection of half-truths and often outright lies—all ofwhich aggrandize the State.

If we are ever to stop the robbery and murder, we must withdraw our“public support.” In other words, we of the clan must UN-reconstructourselves.

Puller: "I also learned that this loyalty to one's Corps travels both ways, up and down."The following is in relation to the well-known Ribbon Creek/S/Sgt Matthew McKeon trial at MCRD, Parris Island, SC, in 1956

Amid a nationwide public outcry regarding the whole matter of the drownings in particular and Marine Corps training practices in general, LtGen Lewis B. "Chesty" Puller was recalled to active duty to testify at the trial regarding Marine training and tradition. Mrs. Puller protested to her husband citing previous trouble and controversy in Puller's career. Puller told her, "...The important thing is the Marine Corps. If we let 'em, they'll tear it to pieces. Headquarters won't speak up. It's my duty to do it."

At the trial, Puller was asked questions pertaining to his own military service, the mission of the Marine Corps, the most important element of Marine training, etc. In part, Puller replied that:, "...The definition of military training is success in battle. In my opinion, it is the only objective of military training..."He quoted Napoleon. "He stated that the most important thing in military training is discipline. Without discipline an army becomes a mob."Puller was asked what he had learned here (PISC) as a recruit. He replied, "Well, the main thing--that I have rememberd all my life--is the definition of espirit de corps. Now my definition--that I was taught, that I've always believed in--is that espirit de corps means love for one's military legion. In my case the United States Marine Corps. I also learned that this loyalty to one's Corps travels both ways, up and down.

"Q: Now, general, I want you to assume that what is the evidence in this case is a fact. That on a Sunday evening a drill instructor took a platoon that was undisciplined and lacked spirit and on whom he' tried other methods of discipline. And that for purposes of teaching discipline and instilling morale he took that platoon into a marsh or creek--all the way in front of his troops--would you consider that oppression?A: In my opinion it is not.""Q: So, in your opinion, was this act of this drill instructor in leading his troops, under those conditions and for that purpose, good or bad military practice?A: Good......I would train my troops as I thought--as I knew they should be trained--regardless of a directive.""Q: ...I lead these recruits into water over their heads and I lose six of those men by drowning. Would you say that some action should be taken against me?A: I would say that this night march was and is a deplorable accident.""Q: Would you take any action against me if I were the one who did that, if you were my Commanding Officer, sir?A: ...I think, from what I read in the papers yesterday of the testimony of General Pate before this court, that he agrees and regrets that this man was ever ordered tried by general court-martial."

"Puller went into the noncom's club that night with Berman, two Marine generals and other officers; the big crowd stood, shouting until he spoke:'I've talked enough for today. This will be my last request. Do your duty and the Marine Corps will be as great as it has always been for another thousand years.'The applause was deafening."~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ReThe book, " Marine, The Life of Lt. Gen. Lewis B. (Chesty) Puller, USMC (Ret.)"By Burke Davis, 1962, Bantam~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~More "Chesty" Stories Here!!!!!Gunny G's Sites & Forums~~~~~~~~~~This is...Gunny G's...GLOBE and ANCHORMarines Sites & ForumsBy R.W. "Dick" GainesGny Sgt USMC (Ret.)1952-'72Semper Fidelis~~~~~~~~~~Note:GyG's G&A Sites & Forums is an informational site and not for profit. Copyrighted material provided soley for education, study, research, and discussion, etc. Full credit to source shown when available.~~~~~

Wednesday, May 31, 2006

I recall vividly a day in 1953 at Tent Camp #3,at CJHP, when M/Sgt Tony Virginia pointed out tome that "Semper Fi" did not mean Semper Fidelis;it was not an abbreviation of Semper Fidelis, nordid it have anything positive in common withSemper Fidelis. He then went further into detailregarding just what Semper Fi was and meant. Ithad apparently come into use with the influx ofgreat numbers of new Marines during WW II intowhat had been a very small U.S. Marine Corps.

The Top stated that, in many cases, promotionshad become much faster than previously experiencedfor peacetime Marines. At one point early inWW II, Marine enlisted began to wear chevronsonly on the left sleeve, due to a policy ofconservation of supplies. He advised that the termSemper Fi came into being with a gesturereminiscent of the old Italian salute, and hedemonstarted this by slapping his right hand overthe left upper arm (over the chevron) while heexclaimed the words "Semper Fi!" This was obviously intended as an obscene term and gesture. The above noted conversation with Top Virginia, now more than 50+years ago made an impression on me.

Though I have sometimes used both the correctSemper Fidelis as well as, sometimes, using the,what has become the usual, Semper Fi, I havealways preferred Semper Fidelis, and for obviousreasons.

People in general, and Marines too, pretty muchjust accept the current customs, explanations, if any, and norms as theyare without question. Sometimes, however,something occurs which calls attention to certainthings that we all have just accepted as is. Ithink this is one of those times, and for myself,I choose to go with Semper Fidelis, and pass bythe (now traditional, incorrect as it may be)Semper Fi.

I have recently noted with interest the followingposted to the Fifth Marine Division website...

"ANOTHER THING: WE ARE TRYING TO GET THE MARINESTO USE THE PROPERPHRASE/MOTTO OF THE U.S.M.C. AND THAT IS "SEMPERFIDELIS" - "ALWAYSFAITHFUL".

NOT SEMPER FI - WHAT IN HELL IS ALWAYS "FI"..WHAT DOES "FI' MEAN??

USE SEMPER FIDELIS

DEAL OR NO DEAL

IF YOU DON'T KNOW WHAT SEMPER FI MEANT IN THE40'S AND 50'S, ITMEANT THINGS LIKE I GOT MINE, BUDDY BOY, OR GETF----D, OR GO TO H--LTHATS AN INSULT TO YOUR FELLOW MARINES, AND IT ISDEROGATORY.. WEAREN'T WORRIED ABOUT BEING POLITICALY CORRECT,BUT WE MUST HAVEFAITH IN THE "BROTHERHOOD."

MARINES CAN'T LIVE ON THAT KIND OF FOOD, NOT INTODAYS WORLD.. YOUCAN'T GIVE A TERRORIST ANY KIND OF OPENING.

DON'T EVER FORGET THAT WE ARE A "BROTHERHOOD",AND THAT MEANS WENEED EACH OTHER, PERIOD.

"When did the term "Semper Fi," an abbreviation?of Semper Fidelis, comeinto being?

Although not exactly recorded in history, onestory stands out.

Sometime shortly after the Beirut bombing in1983, then–Commandant ofthe Marine Corps General Paul X. Kelley wasvisiting a wounded Marinein the hospital. The lad shook the Commandant'shand and thenscribbled the words "Semper Fi" on a piece ofpaper. It was theMarine's way of saying "Semper Fidelis." GenKelley became emotionaland said, "Lord, where do we get such men?" Thepress picked up on it.

After that the term "Semper Fi" was given newlife and a new meaningamong Marines. However, for older Marines, theterm had a slightlydifferent meaning. Today while one understands"Semper Fi" to be aMarine greeting, in the past. "Semper Fi, Mac"meant "I got mine, howyou doing?"RefLeatherneck magazine FAQhttp://www.mca-marines.org/leatherneck/faq.htm>http://www.mca-marines.org/leatherneck/faq.htm> "~~~~~And the following is from one of my own previouspostings on this topic...

"Since then, although I have gone along with theherd at times and usedthe phrase, I have always preferred SemperFidelis, Always Faithful,even though many generations of newer boots haveassumed it to be justan abbreviation of Semper Fidelis. Sort of likein the '60s, when"Sorry 'Bout Dat" (meaning screw you...) alsocame into use for thegeneral population.

See the book, Semper Fi, Mac by Henry Berry,1982, Qill...About TheTitle...where Berry says practically the samething as I have writtenabove. There are many more references to this inmany books, etc.

There have been many other bastardizations ofMarine words, wordslike, "Gung Ho," EGA for Eagle, Globe and Anchor, etc.With the big enlisted rank structure change of1960 came the problemof the troops calling one another by theso-called E-numeric paygrades Vs. their actual rank titles, e.g., E-4 forCorporal, E-5 forSergeant, etc. And that problem persists to thisday. Gotta be careful about slang--amazing what can become "tradition," though unintended and unofficial.

It is a tradition here at FlyoverPress to publish this small tribute toall of them on or near Memorial Day.

Semper Fi

thegunny, 419

Hey Grimes, what's up dude?http://www.flyoverpress.com/heygrimes.htm

By Dr. Jimmy T. (Gunny) LaBaume

We few, we happy few, we band of brothers; For he today that sheds hisblood with me Shall be my brother.--Shakespeare, Henry IV, Act IV,Scene 3

Hey Grimes, what's up? How are things going for you up there inValhalla? With Memorial Day coming, I thought I'd drop you a line. Idon't talk about it much, but there has not been a single day in over32 years that I haven't thought about you.

I remember the first time we met. It was in Staging Battalion at CampPendleton. At the ripe old age of 24, I was a good deal older thanaverage. You've heard of the generation gap? Well, I was the gap. I hadlittle in common with the guys of my rank, with whom I was allowed tosocialize. But, although you were still very young, you were different--an enthusiastic, bubbling, peached faced kid from Amarillo, TX.Remember our big plans for me to teach you to ride bulls and barebackhorses when we got back to the world? Boy, what a couple of dreamers!When we got in country, you went to 5th Marines and I went to 2ndBattalion, 11th Marines. Since my Battalion and your RegimentalHeadquarters were both at An Hoa, we had several chances to see eachother and renew our friendship. Any time that you were there, youalways made a point of finding me, as I did you when I would passthrough.

I'll never forget the last time I saw you. It was about a month beforewe were due to rotate. You had been out with a CAP unit and showed upat my hooch wearing a flight suit and sporting a 45 in a shoulderholster. I didn't ask where you got the flight suit and shoulderholster--just figured that you had traded some air-winger an AK (orsomething) for them. I'll never forget the last conversation we had.

"Hey Grimes, what's up dude?"

"Man, I'm being MedEvaced to Japan!"

I checked you out. You seemed to have all your appendages and didn'tseem to have any extra holes. "MedEvaced? What for?"

"Man, I'm eat up with parasites."

"Parasites! Man that's great!!! By the time they get you to Japan andget you cleaned up, it'll be time to rotate."

We knew that you had it made so we celebrated. As I recall, we snuckout into Duc Duc and captured a couple of liters of Gook banana rum.What a night! The next morning I sent you off. "See ya back in theworld dude!"

When rotation day came and I got on the freedom bird, I was fullyexpecting to see you in a few days. The first morning back on Okinawa,I ran into Piasaki. Remember him? He was a mutual friend that had gonethrough Staging Battalion with us. That's another conversation I'llnever forget.

"Hey man, did you know that Grimes is dead?"

"Naw, bullshit, Grimes ain't dead."

"Yea, he is too."

"No he ain't. I saw him less than a month ago and he was beingMedEvaced to Japan."

"I'm telling you he's dead. I kicked his body the next morning. I waspart of the relief force that got too them right after daylight. The VCoverran his CAP unit and killed them all. It looked like Grimes hadbeen one of the last left fighting. He had about 30 AK rounds pointblank in his chest."

I refused to believe it. I just came home and tried to burry it. Inever made any attempt to contact you or your family--guess I didn'twant to believe it. Then finally, in 1983, I went to the wall and thereyou were—Panel 09W, Line 52, Gary Lynn Grimes. Born 01 June 1949 inAmarillo, Texas. Died 13 June 1970 in Quang Nam, South Vietnam. Icried.

It has only been just recently that I located your family. They arestill in Amarillo and, from what little I know, seem to be doing well.Although I have your parents' and brother's addresses and phonenumbers, I have still made no attempt to contact any of them. That is awrong that terribly needs to be righted and, I promise, I will…someday…As far as what's going on in the world, you wouldn't believe whatthey've done to our country. Remember all those greasy headed hippiesthat we used to hate so much? Well, they're all grown up now and are incontrol of all our major institutions and all levels of government—everything from Congress to law enforcement to the public schools.Hell, one of them even became President. They are stealing ourproperty, murdering our citizens, and generally making a mockery out ofthe Constitution—all under the color of law. What a mess! Oh well,hopefully, there'll be plenty of time to fill you in on the details ofall that later.

So, how's it going for you? I suspect that promotions come pretty slowup there--after all, you are amongst the cream of the cream. But,knowing you, I'd bet that you are at least a Battalion Sergeant Majorby now. When the Supreme Commandant decides to cut me a new set oforders, I'm hoping He'll consider me worthy of joining you. Maybeyou'll have room for a good Company First Sergeant in your outfit.Hope to see you up there dude!

Semper FiLaBaume, Jimmy TCpl USMC--Think secession!

http://flyoverpress.com/ News you will not get from anywhere on themainstream media.

American Lapel Pins and Emblems, Inc.http://www.pinsandemblems.com~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ReWWW.Flyoverpress.com

Jimmy T. LaBaume, PhD, ChFC is a full professor teaching economics and statistics in the School of Agricultural and Natural Resource Sciences, Sul Ross State University, Alpine, TX. He wishes to make it abundantly clear that he does not speak for Sul Ross State University and Sul Ross State University does not think for him.

Dr. LaBaume has lived in Mexico and spent extended periods of time in South and Central America as a researcher, consultant and educator.

"Gunny" LaBaume is a decorated veteran of the Vietnam War and Desert Storm. His Marine Corps career spanned some 35 years intermittently from 1962 until 1997 when he refused to re-enlist with less than 2 years to go to a good retirement. In his own words, he "simply got tired of being guilty of treason."

He is also currently the publisher and managing editor of FlyoverPress.com, a daily e-source of news not seen or head anywhere on the mainstream media. He can be reached at jlabaume@sulross.edu.

Sunday, May 14, 2006

Recently there has been much discussion, brouhaha, regarding the so-called Revolt of The Generals, and the question has come up again and again as to whether or not these generals could be court-martialed for their statements, etc. Well, some say yes; some say no; and some say, yes, but....

Most articles on this subject have said very little as to whether or not retired military personnel can actually be prosecuted for their statements. The following articles, however, do address this specifically.

So in an effort to make some sense of whether or not retired military can be prosecuted, the following articles on this subject are hereby presented for your perusal.

Frederick W. Kagan's "Let the Generals Speak" (May 8) wrongly claims that retired military officers are not subject to the Uniform Code of Military Justice. All those receiving retired pay are subject to the UCMJ.

Lt. Gen. Bob Springer, USAF (ret.), Pinehurst, N.C.

Frederick W. Kagan responds: I readily acknowledge that I erred in stating that retired officers are not subject to the UCMJ. The question of the applicability of Article 88--which bans contemptuous speech directed at superiors and civilian leaders--is, however, more complicated. Apart from the fact that there are no cases of attempted prosecutions for violating this article, the standard for preferring such charges is different from the one required to accuse active duty officers. To prosecute a retired officer, the military would have to show that the words used "create a clear and present danger" leading to evils "that Congress has a right to prevent." This hurdle is much higher than the requirement to show for active duty officers that "the speech interferes with . . . the orderly accomplishment of the mission or presents a clear danger to loyalty, discipline, mission, or morale of the troops." Even discussing an Article 88 charge in the context of the retired generals' statements is absurd.~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~(Previously Posted)

Criticism of Donald Rumsfeld by the uniformed military is nothing new. As I noted a year ago, most of Rumsfeld's critics are uniformed officers unhappy with the changes he has wrought during his tenure as secretary of defense.

But the rhetoric has notched up recently. Several retired generals have denounced Rumsfeld and called for his resignation over Iraq. Much of the language they have used is intemperate, and some is downright contemptuous. For instance, Marine general Anthony Zinni, Tommy Franks's predecessor as commander of Central Command — the organization responsible for implementing the wars in Afghanistan and Iraq — has described the actions of the Bush administration as ranging from "true dereliction, negligence, and irresponsibility" to "lying, incompetence, and corruption." He has called Rumsfeld "incompetent strategically, operationally, and tactically." One has to go back to 1862 to find a senior military officer condemning a civilian superior so harshly.

Some have expressed concern in the past when retired generals have campaigned publicly for a presidential candidate, but this unprecedented attack against Rumsfeld is far more serious. While there are no legal restrictions that prevent retired members of the military — even recently retired members — from speaking out on public policy, doing so now and in this way is imprudent.

The open (and often intemperate) criticism leveled by these officers against Rumsfeld is not only feeding defeatism at home, but is also adversely affecting the military that these officers purport to love: Aside from demoralizing the soldiers and Marines who have sweated and bled on the ground in Iraq and Afghanistan, this behavior has weakened the cohesion of the active-duty officer corps by ultimately forcing them to take sides on the Rumsfeld affair.

Although one would not know it from the press, Rumsfeld has many admirers within the uniformed services. Some critics of Rumsfeld have called his uniformed defenders "Courtney Massengales," a reference to a character in Anton Myrer's remarkable novel, Once an Eagle. In this novel, Courtney Massengale and Sam Damon represent two polar-opposite archetypes of the soldier: Damon is the dedicated citizen-soldier who is commissioned on the battlefield and, as he rises through the ranks to become a major general, never forgets his roots as an enlisted man. His life is one of dedicated service and loyalty to his subordinates. Massengale is Damon's nemesis, a West Point graduate who is really never a soldier at heart, but merely a careerist who advances himself at the expense of others.

Some of the officers who criticize Rumsfeld fancy themselves as noble and self-sacrificing, even as they paint the secretary's defenders as sellouts who have succumbed to the allure of promotion, prestige, and personal aggrandizement. Ralph Peters leveled a similar charge in his piece for the New York Post last week. But this is a slander.

There are fine officers on both sides of this issue, and pitting one group against another does nothing to enhance the security of the United States.

In addition, such public criticism by senior retired officers is undermining healthy civil-military relations. The cornerstone of U.S. civil-military relations is civilian control of the military, a principle that goes back to the American Revolution and the precedent established by George Washington, who willingly subordinated himself and his army to civilian authority.

The public attack on Rumsfeld by retired officers flies in the face of this tradition. Should active-duty and retired officers of the Army and Navy in 1941 publicly have debated the lend-lease program, the occupation of Iceland, or the Europe-first strategy? Should generals in 1861 have discussed in public their opinions of Lincoln's plan to re-provision Fort Sumter, aired their views regarding the right of the South to secede from the Union, or argued the pros and cons of issuing the Emancipation Proclamation?

Many of Rumsfeld's critics have invoked the very important book by H. R. McMaster, Dereliction of Duty: Lyndon Johnson, Robert McNamara, the Joint Chiefs of Staff, and the Lies That Led to Vietnam , the subject of which is how the Joint Chiefs failed to challenge Defense Secretary Robert McNamara adequately during the Vietnam War. Many serving officers believe the book effectively makes the case that the Joint Chiefs of Staff should have more openly voiced their opposition to the Johnson administration's strategy of gradualism, and then resigned rather than carry out the policy.

But as Richard Kohn — an expert on U.S. civil-military relations and McMaster's academic adviser for the dissertation that became Dereliction of Duty — has observed, the book "neither says nor implies that the chiefs should have obstructed U.S. policy in Vietnam in any other way than by presenting their views frankly and forcefully to their civilian superiors, and speaking honestly to Congress when asked for their views. It neither states nor suggests that the chiefs should have opposed President Lyndon Johnson's orders and policies by leaks, public statements, or by resignation, unless an officer personally and professionally could not stand, morally and ethically, to carry out the chosen policy."

The misreading of Dereliction of Duty reinforces the increasingly widespread belief among officers that they should be advocates of particular policies rather than simply serving in their traditional advisory role. Kohn writes that a survey of officer and civilian attitudes and opinions undertaken by the Triangle Institute for Security Studies in 1998-99 discovered that "many officers believe that they have the duty to force their own views on civilian decision makers when the United States is contemplating committing American forces abroad." When "asked whether military leaders should be neutral, advise, advocate, or insist on having their way in the decision process" to use military force, 50 percent or more of the up-and-coming active-duty officers answered "insist," on the following issues: "setting rules of engagement, ensuring that clear political and military goals exist, developing an 'exit strategy,'" and "deciding what kinds of military units will be used to accomplish all tasks." In the context of the questionnaire, "insist" definitely implied that officers should try to compel acceptance of the military's recommendations.

There is, as well, a practical political problem resulting from such actions on the part of retired officers: a loss of confidence and trust in the military institution by the American people. Although Americans hold today's military in high regard, this will change if they come to view the military as just another special-interest group vying for more resources as it seeks to restrict how the civilian authorities use it, or if retired soldiers are perceived to be no different than the sort of political appointee who just left the administration and is now peddling a "tell all" book intended to settle scores with his adversaries.

The view of the soldier, no matter how experienced in military affairs he may be, is still restricted to the conduct of operations and military strategy. Civilian control of the military means at a minimum that it is the role of the statesman to take the broader view, deciding when political considerations take precedence over even the most pressing military matters. The soldier is a fighter and an adviser, not a policymaker.

— Mackubin Thomas Owens is an associate dean of academics and a professor of national-security affairs at the Naval War College in Newport, R.I. He is writing a history of U.S. civil-military relations.

http://www.nationalreview.com/owens/owens200604270710.asp

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Could Rumsfeld Court-Martial the Retired Generals?

Surprisingly, yes.

By Fred Kaplan

Posted Wednesday, April 26, 2006, at 2:59 PM ET

Donald Rumsfeld has a notorious vindictive streak. How low will he stoop to pursue it? Let's put him to the test. If he wanted to get really brutal, Rumsfeld could convene a court-martial and prosecute the six retired generals who have been calling for his head. Military law, if read literally, permits him to do this. So, will he?

One of the assumptions surrounding the recent criticism of Rumsfeld is that the retired generals, unlike active-duty officers, are free to criticize the defense secretary without fear of reprisal. Surprisingly, this assumption is untrue. Under the Uniform Code of Military Justice, one of the many activities deemed punishable by court-martial is "contempt toward officials." This code of laws applies not just to active-duty officers but to retired ones, too. It's right there in Article 2, Section (a) (5): Persons subject to the UCMJ include "retired members of a regular component of the armed forces who are entitled to pay."

The key phrase is "entitled to pay." If you resign from the military, and thus give up all retirement pay and benefits, you're free from the clutches of military law. But if you retire and thus keep getting paid 50 percent to 75 percent of your peak active-duty salary (plus cost-of-living adjustments pegged to the consumer price index), you're still in the cage. (Many retirees learned this the hard way, when they were called back into service in Iraq.)

If Rumsfeld wanted to stick it to the retired generals who are daring to question his wisdom�Anthony Zinni, Greg Newbold, Paul Eaton, Charles Swannack, John Batiste, and John Riggs�he could invoke Article 88 of the military justice code, which reads:

Any commissioned officer [and, under Article 2, this includes any retired officer] who uses contemptuous words against the President, the Vice President, Congress, the Secretary of Defense, the Secretary of a military department, the Secretary of Transportation [!], or the Governor or legislature of any State, Territory, Commonwealth, or possession in which he is on duty or present, shall be punished as a court-martial may direct. [Italics and exclamation mark added.]

The military's Manual for Courts-Martial, the implementing document for the UCMJ, could be read as strengthening Rumsfeld's case against his critics, in two ways. First, in its elaboration of Article 88, the manual states:

It is immaterial whether the [contemptuous] words are used against the official in an official or private capacity.

In short, it's no defense for a retired general to say, "I'm just speaking as a private citizen."

Second, the manual notes:

Giving broad circulation to a written publication containing contemptuous words of the kind made punishable by this article � aggravates the offense. The truth or falsity of the statements is immaterial.

This is pretty shocking stuff. It means a lieutenant could get court-martialed for e-mailing all of his friends a newspaper or magazine story that's contemptuous of Rumsfeld. The six retired generals didn't merely give "broad circulation" to such stories. They wrote the stories, or gave on-the-record interviews to those who did, in publications with extremely broad circulation.

If Rumsfeld wanted to take this law literally and crack down, how could he go about it? Article 22, Section (a) states that a court-martial may be convened by, among others, the president, the secretary of defense, the "secretary concerned" (i.e., the official who's been the object of contempt), or any commanding officer designated by the secretary concerned or by the president. So, Secretary Rumsfeld or President Bush could set up a court-martial, or either of them could get a loyal henchman to do the dirty work. If the generals were found guilty, the maximum penalty under Article 88 is "dismissal, forfeiture of all pay and allowances, and confinement for one year."

Now, before Secretary Rumsfeld and his small circle of friends start salivating, they should consider two things. First and most obvious, trying to court-martial these six generals would be stupid beyond all measure. Very few officers�and, as far as I can tell, no retired officers�have ever been prosecuted under Article 88. I'm hardly suggesting that Rumsfeld break precedent; nor am I predicting that he might. But if he wanted to interpret the law literally�as the Justice Department does when it prosecutes someone under the federal espionage statute for receiving classified information�this would let him bring down the hammer.

But second, Rumsfeld should take a closer look at Article 88. In fact, all officers, active and retired, should take a look. In its commentary on that article, the Manual for Courts-Martial notes:

If not personally contemptuous, adverse criticism of one of the officials or legislatures named in the article in the course of a political discussion, even though emphatically expressed, may not be charged as a violation of the article.

In other words, if officers (active or retired) merely criticize Rumsfeld, even emphatically, they are not violating military law, as long as they avoid "contemptuous" words. (I guess this means you should preface your remarks by saying, "With all due respect, sir � ") So, it turns out that military law�which actually protects most critical speech�may not be why active-duty officers won't harsh on Rumsfeld. They refrain from criticism of any sort not because they fear court-martial, but because they know their careers will hit a brick wall. They'll never be promoted; they'll probably be transferred to the Arctic Circle.

The open question is: What is the legal meaning of "contemptuous"? Article 88 offers no definition. Neither does the commentary in the Manual for Courts-Martial. The only guidance that the Defense Department's public-affairs office could come up with was this definition from The Military Judges' Benchbook, paragraph 3-12-1d:

This sounds more like an 18th-century guide on gentlemen's etiquette than a modern-day casebook on military law. But if it is a crime, punishable by court-martial, to disdain Donald Rumsfeld, he could lock up half the Army officer corps.

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According to Eugene Fidell, a lawyer with the National Institute of Military Justice, the last time Article 88 was invoked was 1967, during the Vietnam War, when Reservist Lt. Howe�off duty, out of uniform, and off base near a local university�carried a placard in an anti-war demonstration that read "End Johnson's Facist [sic] Aggression in Viet Nam." He was convicted for using "contemptuous words" against the president (and, under Article 133, for "conduct unbecoming an officer"). The Court of Military Appeals affirmed the verdict, ruling that suppression of his speech was essential to prevent a military "man on a white horse" from challenging "civilian control of the military."

The only time a retired officer has been so much as charged with this offense was in 1942, when a retired Army lieutenant colonel who was opposed to America's intervention in World War II gave a speech impugning President Roosevelt's loyalty. The Army charged him under Article 88 but then withdrew the charges to avoid giving him and his views further publicity.Fred Kaplan writes the "War Stories" column for Slate. He can be reached at war_stories@hotmail.com.

While doing some research on oaths taken by individuals joining themilitary I ran across the original oaths given to the officers of thecontinental armies. This is the original from the revolutionary war,which applied to military and civilian national officers. The first,passed on 21 October 1776, read:

"I _____, do acknowledge the Thirteen United States of America,namely,New Hampshire, Massachusetts Bay, Rhode Island, Connecticut, New York,New Jersey, Pennsylvania, Delaware, Maryland, Virginia, NorthCarolina,South Carolina, and Georgia, to be free,independent, and sovereign states, and declare, that the peoplethereofowe no allegiance or obedience to George the third, king of GreatBritain; and I renounce, refuse and abjure any allegiance or obedienceto him; and I do swear that I will, to the utmost of my power,support,maintain, and defend the said United States against the said king,George the third, and his heirs and successors, and his and theirabettors, assistants and adherents; and will serve the said UnitedStates in the office of _____, which I now hold, and in any otherofficewhich I may hereafter hold by their appointment, or under theirauthority, with fidelity and Honor, and according to the best of myskill and understanding. So help me God."

Very specific about the definition of the United States isn't it.

A revised version was voted and passed on 3 February 1778, reads;

"I, _____ do acknowledge the United States of America to be free,independent and sovereign states, and declare that the people thereofowe no allegiance or obedience, to George the third, king of GreatBritain; and I renounce, refuse and abjure any allegiance or obedienceto him: and I do swear (or affirm) that I will, to the utmost of mypower, support, maintain and defend the said United States, againstthesaid king George the third and his heirs and successors, and his andtheir abettors, assistants and adherents, and will serve the saidUnitedStates in the office of _____ which I now hold, with fidelity,accordingto the best of my skill and understanding. So help me God."

The first oath of military service under the Constitution was approvedby Act of Congress 29 September 1789 (Sec. 3, Ch. 25, 1st Congress).Itapplied to all commissioned officers, noncommissioned officers andprivates in the service of the United States. It came in two parts:

1. "I,______, do solemnly swear or affirm (as the case may be) that Iwill support the constitution of the United States."

2. "I,______, do solemnly swear or affirm (as the case may be) to beartrue allegiance to the United States of America, and to serve themhonestly and faithfully, against all their enemies or opposerswhatsoever, and to observe and obey the orders of the President of theUnited States of America, and the orders of the officers appointedoverme."

This version stayed in effect for non-coms and enlisted until it waschanged in 1950. The officer�s oath however went thru many changes. In1830 the officer oath was changed to:

"I, _____, appointed a _____ in the Army of the United States, dosolemnly swear, or affirm, that I will bear true allegiance to theUnited States of America, and that I will serve them honestly andfaithfully against all their enemies or opposers whatsoever, andobserveand obey the orders of the President of the United States, and theorders of the officers appointed over me, according to the rules andarticles for the government of the Armies of the United States."

Then again in 1862 to:

I,_______, do solemnly swear (or affirm) that I have never borne armsagainst the United States since I have been a citizen thereof; that Ihave voluntarily given no aid, countenance, counsel, or encouragementtopersons engaged in armed hostility thereto; that I have neither soughtnor accepted nor attempted to exercise the functions of any officewhatsoever under any authority or pretended authority in hostility tothe United States; that I have not yielded voluntary support to anypretended government, authority, power, or constitution within theUnited States, hostile or inimical thereto. And I do further swear (oraffirm) that, to the best of my knowledge and ability, I will supportand defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies,foreign and domestic; that I will bear true faith and allegiance tothesame; that I take this obligation freely, without any mentalreservation or purpose of evasion; and that I will well and faithfullydischarge the duties of the office on which I am about to enter, sohelpme God."

This is the first instance of an enemy "foreign and domestic". An actof13 May 1884 reverted the officer�s oath to:

"I,________, do solemnly swear (or affirm) that I will support anddefend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies,foreign or domestic; thatI will bear true faith and allegiance to the same; that I take thisobligation freely, without any mental reservation or purpose ofevasion;and that I will well and faithfully discharge the duties of the officeon which I am about to enter. So help me God."

This version was used until 1959. You will note that none of thesehaveany way to rescind the oath (not even the one we use at present).Theseoaths are forlife, when you take off the uniform, they don't go away.

Jim Kelly HuffEmpire Ga--

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~RefLtGen Greg Newbold recently, in a news article, pointed out the distinction between the oath of enlistment for enlisted Marines, Soldiers, Sailors, and Airmen, and the Oath taken by officers.

"What are the current oaths of enlistment and oaths for officers?

Enlisted: I (state your name) do solemnly swear (or affirm) that I will support and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies, foreign and domestic; that I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same and that I will obey the orders of the President of the United States and the orders of the officers appointed over me, according to the regulations and the Uniform Code of Military Justice. So help me God.

Officer: (state your name) do solemnly swear (or affirm) that I will support and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies, foreign and domestic; That I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same; that I take this obligation freely, without any mental reservation or purpose of evasion; that I will well and faithfully discharge the duties of the office on which I am about to enter. So help me God.RefFAQ Leatherneckhttp://www.mca-marines.org/leatherneck/faq.htm~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"A leader's responsibility "is to give voice to those who can't - or don't have the opportunity to - speak," General Newbold wrote. "Enlisted members of the armed forces swear their oath to those appointed over them; an officer swears an oath not to a person but to the Constitution. The distinction is important."-Gen Newbold

~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Clipping: " With the encouragement of some still in positions of military leadership, I offer a challenge to those still in uniform: a leader's responsibility is to give voice to those who can't�or don't have the opportunity to�speak. Enlisted members of the armed forces swear their oath to those appointed over them; an officer swears an oath not to a person but to the Constitution. The distinction is important."their oath to those appointed over them; an officer swears an oath....REF/LINK, CLICK HERE!!!!!~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Think secession!

http://flyoverpress.com/> News you will not get from anywhere on themainstream media.

Tuesday, March 28, 2006

Should Veterans (Soldiers, Sailors, Airmen, Marines....) "Hand Salute," or simply use the gesture of placing the right hand over the heart?

Major General Vern Lewis, USA (Ret.) believes he has the answer!

The following is from a widely circulated e-mail regarding a suggestion by MajGen Vern Lewis, USA (Ret.) who, with others, is sponsoring a movement regarding hand saluting vice hand over heart for Veterans/Retired Military who choose to do so....

Since there is apparently no formal organization behind General Lewis' movement, it is hoped that other military-oriented websites will make every effort to get the word out to all hands and miitary organizations, etc., as requested by the general.~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~I gathered some 16 of my old military friends who agreed to sponsora movement for Veterans to salute rather than place their hands overtheir heart when honoring the flag, fallen comrades, and/or thecountry. I have some from each of the four principal services. Threeof them were former Vice Chiefs or Assistant Commandants of theirservices, and several were former CINC's.

We refer to saluting when we do the pledge to the flag, when theNational Colors pass or are presented, when the National Anthem orhonors are played, or when taps are played and firing squads or gunsrender honors. We got MOAA magazine to ask veterans what theypreferred, hand over the heart or saluting. When last I looked, some583 veteran respondents had voted 81% in favor of the salute. Inaddition, my email address was in the questionnaire and I've hadabout 150 responses, with all but a dozen or so in favor of thesalute. Obviously an overwhelming majority of the veterans want tosalute.

There are no regulations telling us veterans what we can and can'tdo in this matter. If we decide we want to salute, who will dare totell us "no"?

It is a matter of personal choice. We've earned the right to rendera salute. Now the challenge is to get the word out. I believe theunit and branch associations are the best way. The commanders of theAmerican Legion and VFW never answered my emails, presuming theyeven got them. If we can get this started it will take on a life ofits own. Those who object can continue the hand over the heartthing. Gradually the custom will change, as well it should.

Just imagine thousands of fans saluting at NFL, MBA, and MajorLeague Baseball games when the National Anthem is played. It willtelegraph a message to all others of how many have served thiscountry in the Armed Forces---it will be a positive and patrioticmessage.

You can help by putting the word out in your organizations, whichare made up of patriots like you and me. Thanks, my friend.

Vernon B.~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~GyG Response:

I, personally, think this suggestion by MajGen Vern Lewis, USA (Ret.) is a good one. As he points out, there are no regulations regarding veterans and military retirees on this specific issue. It is a matter, therefore, of personal choice, and those still preferring the hand over the heart are not affected.

Those who bring up such things as various forms of civilain attire, naval personnel not saluting indoors/outdoors, covered/uncovered, etc., are just confusing the issue--a very simple issue to begin with. Whether or not a salute would be appropriate in certain/all situations would obviously to be within the judgment of each individual.

General Lewis states, in part...."There are no regulations telling us veterans what we can and can't do in this matter. If we decide we want to salute, who will dare to tell us "no"? It is a matter of personal choice. We've earned the right to render a salute. Now the challenge is to get the word out. I believe the unit and branch associations are the best way. The commanders of the American Legion and VFW never answered my emails, presuming they even got them. If we can get this started it will take on a life of its own. Those who object can continue the hand over the heart thing. Gradually the custom will change, as well it should."

I recall that in boot camp in 1952, we were instructed by one of our DIs, a corporal, on saluting. Among many other things, he pointed out that a salute was basically a form of military greeting, and that it was not uncommon for enlisted Marines to salute other Marines both well beyond the prescribed saluting distance, and in civilian clothes. I have since done so myself on many occasions.-RWG~~~~~~~~By coincidence this comes up now as it has for a long time been my own opinion that veterans, including retired military, should render the hand salute rather than placing their right hand over the heart, at least those desiring to do so. To the military man what could be more natural than saluting?! This, then, being so for most, why do we just stand at attention, hand on heart, etc. while we really feel that we should be rendering the hand salute?

The answer is that we ASSUME that that is NOT the correct thing to do, not acceptable, against regulations, etc. NOT SO!, and GeneralLewis makes that point clear in his email, above. Too often we assume things that are just not not so, and this is one of those times.

Gen Lewis' piece has been widely circulated on the Internet these last few days. His own poll on MOAA has shown responses overwhelmingly in favor of the hand salute over the hand over heart. Other messageboards, e-mails that I have viewed indicate the same.

Some do not seem to understand that by many of us (or a few of us) changing to the hand salute would NOT then preclude those who wish to continue their preference of placing their right hand over the heart. It is just NOT an "either/or" situation; each can read this information and decide for themselves what he/she wishes to do. Again, still others tend to make this simple and clear issue complicated by bringing up, for instance, naval personnel not saluting indoors, covered/uncovered, etc. None of these things affect the issue as stated by Gen Lewis; individuals will continue to use their best personal judgment in each case.

The main drawback in what Gen Lewis is attempting to do, I think, is in getting the word out to all veterans/retired miltary personnel. There is no organization behind this. But it has to be made clear that this suggestion of his does not constitute a change to any regulation at all. As he states, there is no regulation to begin with to preclude veterans.retirees from rendering the hand salute if we so choose! Those choosing the hand over heart are also free to do so.

So then, those of us who agree with the general, should make every effort to spread the word on this not just to individual veterans, but to military/veteran-related organizations.

NOTE:For more information, responses from others, etc., please click on link/title at the top of this page and proceed to that link which has several responses at the bottom of that page.

Friday, March 03, 2006

Each Morning on the way to James Madison, H.S., Brooklyn N.Y., Pep andI would pass the Draft Board on Madison Pl. & Quentin Rd. We would seeeither a friend or a relative hanging out in front, waiting to beprocessed. It was like a giant drain sucking all the young men out ofthe neighborhood. When we graduated in Jan of 44, we were stillseventeen, and too young for the draft. We worked in A & S Dept. storefor about 3 months as stock boys. When I got my draft notice, we bothquit without giving notice. We knew nothing about notice. We got oneheck of a lecture by a somber old gentleman, wearing a black suit, inthe personnel office. He spoke to us about the ethics of the businessworld and our responsibility to our employer. That the proper thing tobe done would be to provide the firm with the normal two weeks notice.What we were doing was not just done. It certainly made a lot of sense.We hung our heads while we listened and felt very guilty, then wequit. Pep got his "Greetings" (draft notice) shortly thereafter. Wehad our 18th birthdays two weeks apart. Two months later the Governmentgave us the choice of service, Pep chose the Navy and I went to ParrisIsland.

Parris Island, S.C. was Boot Camp for all Marines east of theMississippi. I was to find out about forty years later that I had spentthe hottest summer in the history of South Carolina learning how toobey an order, and stay in back of the guy in front of me.

Crossing over the bridge to Parris Island (P.I.) was a one-way trip.When we arrived we were greeted by a very large muscular gentlemancalled Corp. Stone; he was to be our Drill Instructor (D.I.). Hehad us form into four ranks of 15. We were a group of 60, made up of amajority of 18 yr. olds; the rest of us were from 25 to 32. The Gov.was scraping the barrel, as far as ages available for the draft. Icould tell immediately D.I. Stone was not impressed with the clay thathe was to mold into Marines. He stood there glaring at us with a facethat would make a lemon blanch. He did not snuggle up to us, he hatedus. He vilified us, using all sorts of profanity, displaying a verylimited vocabulary. He randomly picks an individual from the ranks anddestroys him with demeaning comments about his mother, father and thegirl back home. This guy was really sick. He seemed to be barelycontaining an urge to do us bodily harm. His harangue boiled down to,that despite this pile of garbage that was unloaded on him, he wasgoing to turn it into a platoon of Marines. He told us to forget aboutMom, he was going to be our Mother and we were to be in his care fromJune 2 till Aug 15th. I later realized that he had either lied to us,or he had one hell of a tough Mother. I also noticed the poor man had ahearing problem. He would stand with his nose almost touching mine andinform me that he couldn't hear me, forcing me to shout into his face.I had no problem hearing him. His memory was shot too, couldn'tremember names, called everybody "Boy"! It was my first encounter witha real live son of a bitch.

From my first moment on P.I. I was totally immersed in a trainingprogram that used my every breath for the good of the Corps. What everthey were doing to us, they had it down to a science. The main idea inthe training was to destroy all self esteem, kill the individual. Allthe Corps wanted was raw meat. Life was to be found only in the group.We were to exist only as a cell in the body. A lobotomy was thrown inwith the hair cut, all free will was removed. A mental gang rape inreverse, was part of the training program. The group would think asone, and of only one thing, OBEY, QUESTION. The only saving gracewas that we were in it together. We bonded like a herd of musk oxen.The experience was so irrational. It was like punishing a man before hecommitted the crime. It was the stick without the carrot. It was hardfor us to fathom why they were so cruel.

Each morning after they would pair the Boots (us) off in order to boxeach other. The match would not be over until there was a display ofblood. The D.I. would always attempt to match two buddies. Thosematches were unholy. I thought the system definitely called for someconstructive criticism, but on second thought I realized I might beputting the Drill Instructor's foot in my mouth. I felt sorry for theold guys, men between the ages of 25 & 32, that was a tough age to bemade over. My age at least left me more pliable, not yet set in theways of human behavior. The Drill Instructor assumed no responsibilityfor the end product, he really didn't give a damn how you could everfit back into civilian life. His job was to get you back home in onepiece. All I knew, was that each day I was losing something, part ofme was dying each day. It was as if I was bleeding "me.”

I wondered how anybody could live in South Carolina while enduringthat horrible heat. Everyday in the sun it was well over a hundreddegrees, I kid you not. I did not realize until years later, when by astrange quirk of faith, I saw South Carolina's weather statistics. Icracked up when I saw that June, July and August of l944 was thehottest summer S.C. ever had. I remember how I would watch the uniformof Bill Farrell, the guy in front of me, turn from a light green toblack as we marched, and the beads of sweat drop off his ears.. Wepopped salt tablets like peanuts. The D.I. had a thing about keepingin step and rank while we threw our rifles from one shoulder to theother. We would practice this close order drill for hours, on a fieldof deep loose sand. God it was hot. He would march beside us constantlyrepeating "Reep, Reep, Reep". I could never figure out what he wastrying to tell us. Joel Kershoff was the first man to collapse, downhe went into white hot sand. . He was a big fat soft guy from Brooklyn.I don't think Joel ever exercised in his life. As we marched overhim, naturally we went out of step to avoid stepping on him. After wepassed over him, the D.I. gave the order to the rear march. Back wewent, every man in step. As we approached our fallen comrade, lyingwhere he fell, we were told that there was a possibility of stepping onhim, or over him depending where your foot fell, but you kept in STEPand in RANK. The D.I.,said, "The man who missed a step or broke rank toavoid the prostate form, will take his place, and we will walk overyou.”. The D.I. always had a thing about keeping in step, I guess itlooked pretty. As we marched over him , we managed not to step on him.He joined us back in the barracks, the sand had clung to the sweat onhis face. He looked as if had been stepped on.

Joel was definitely a D.I.'s nightmare. Joel was an overweight, misfit,a real blob. Even though he was in sad shape and made a lousyappearance, Joel had guts. Life on Parris Island was a chore for all ofus, but for Joel the physical training was hell. His special cross wasmade of fat. Most of Joel made it through P.I., but he did leave aboutforty pounds down there. No doubt his mind was busted when wegraduated, but he looked great. His family must have been shocked whenhe came home on Boot leave and saw the end product of P.I. Theyprobably never believed his tale of woe, he could hardly believe it.

So many guys were collapsing that an order came down, if the temp.went over 95 we were not to go on the drill field. The D.I.'s scoffedand we continued drilling in the sand between the barracks. I'mtalking about 130 in the sun, look it up, July,Aug., l944, ParrisIsland. Before dawn we would fall in at attention at the foot of oursacks. Guys would collapse like trees falling, never bending theirknees, you would hear this sickening slap, as if a board fell. Youwould always hesitate falling out for sick call. There was always thechance they would put you in the hospital and you would lose yourplatoon, which meant additional time on the Island.

I remember one night helping a buddy, John Cook, over to the head(bathroom) to soak huge blisters he had on his feet. While we werethere we made the mistake of asking a Marine, who was stepping out ofthe shower, for the time. I called him Joe, for lack of a name, bigmistake, he turned out to be a nude D.I. He made us stand at attentionand said he would be back. My buddy and I spent most of the rest of thenight standing at attention. We finally worked up enough courage totake off back to our barracks. I never did get the gentleman's name.

Constant fatigue was always a problem, not near enough sleep time. Iremember standing exhausted in front of our D.I. while I attended oneof his many lectures. God I was tired. He was built like ArnoldSwartzeneger, with the head of a gorilla. I was deathly afraid ofhim. I guess you would describe him as a poor mixer and antisocial. Hemust have came from a broken family. While he talked I was havingserious trouble keeping my upper lid from touching my bottom lid. Thebehemoth's gaze froze on me and I knew there was something horribleabout to happen. My eye lids were lead. He was kind enough to noticemy unintentional faux pas, as I went off to sleep on my feet. He had aremedy for my unpardonable behavior--he grabbed me by the collar, withthese huge hands and shook my eyeballs. I was suddenly wide awake, myeyelids felt like feathers. I was now able to give him my completeattention. It was obvious that he had a medical background. A JohnsHopkins man no doubt, had specialized in narcolepsy. It was a lastingcure; to this day, I sleep with one eye open.

Whenever we screwed up we would have the bucket drill. We reallydidn't have to screw up. Our two D.I.s would come back to the barracksin the middle of the night, after being well bombed and yell "BUCKETDRILL,” "HIT THE DECK." Upon hearing that dreaded order you wouldleave a coma like sleep and leap from your sack, and place yourself atrigid attention in your skivvies (underwear), at the foot of yourmetal, double decker sack. Before taking this position, you would placeyour heavy cast-iron wash bucket over your head. Immediately next toyou is the man you share the double decker with. Our heads, in thebuckets, are about six inches from the metal bar along the foot ofyour top sack. The D.I.s walking with the silence of cats, wouldproceed down the long aisle between the two rows of bucketedMarines, at attention, at the foot of their sacks. A D.I would slameach bucket into the metal bar that was at the foot of the top sack.You would try to anticipate your bell being rung, by trying to spotthe toes of his shoes as he stood in front of you, giving you time tobrace and cringe. Now the bucket drill begins, picture l5 doubledeck sacks on each side of the aisle with two bucket heads standingat the foot of each sack. On the word "GO" the first man crawls onthe floor under the first double decker, he then proceeds to climbover the top of the second double decker and then under the bottom ofthe third, etc. At his heels there are 59 other guys following thesame course. Naturally the buckets remain on our heads during thewhole drill. It always was hilarious, the buckets were filled withcries of pain and laughter. It wasn't all that bad, it was the onlyprivacy we ever had.

One Sunday afternoon one of our D.I.'s was attempting to walk on hishands during a break in the training. To show up the D.I., like a realsmart ass, I walk down the few steps that led out of the barracks onmy hands. He pretends not to notice. That night he showed how muchhe appreciated my agility. That night, about 1 o'clock, The nightguard woke me from my coma and informed me that I had just beenordered to the D.I.'s quarters, which was a separate room at the endof the barracks. I knocked on the door and reported my presence tothe Drill Instructors. They readily granted me access and thenproceeded to bounce me from one wall to another. It was like a gameof catch, only they were too drunk to catch. They eventually openedthe door and threw me out. They never said a word. They didn't haveto.

A great deal of time at P.I. was spent developing a bond with yournew found friend the M1 rifle. It was a great weapon and a loyalfriend. If you treated your friend right he would never let you down.A grueling exercise called snapping in was used to train you in allthe varied firing positions, which were never to be used in combat,outside of the prone position. I pulled every muscle in my bodybefore I pulled a trigger. I did enjoy firing my weapon. At theRifle Range you would not only learn to fire your weapon withexpertise., but you also had to spend time on butt detail.. Thisentailed standing in a trench as the firing line placed shots in thetarget several feet above your head. After the firing ceased youlowered the target, which you would slide down on a frame.Down in the butts the activity is fast moving. Targets must bedisked, marked and pasted up carefully and quickly. You wouldimmediately place markers in the bullet holes, to indicate the hits.You would also hold up marker poles to give the score. All this wasnot to difficult under normal circumstance, but my friend Corp,Stone, while sitting on a bench in back of me, amused himself, byprodding me in the back with a marker pole, as I work the target.Maybe I should have offered to teach him to walk on his hands. Ithink we were still at the Range, it was on a Sunday about the lastweek of training, a Boot sneaked off to the PX to buy a 1/2 gallon ofIce Cream. The D.I. caught him and tied the container on top of hishead, up side down. It was high noon an another blazing hot day. Theplatoon was called out, to form up at attention in front of thebarracks. We were forced to watch as the poor soul stood sufferingthe melt down. He stood in front of the platoon until the ice creamhad melted all over him and he was covered with sand flies. In thebeginning we thought it was amusing. I wonder, if he ever got home, ifanybody ever asked him what the low point of his life was. It'sstrange how whenever Marines meet it's never the campaigns, but P.I.,that always becomes the center of the conversation. Laughter alwaysmanages to drown out the wild tales of horror. It always turns into agame of "Can you top this". Everybody believed they had thetoughest D.I.'s. And for some strange reason we were proud of them.(Stockholm Syndrome). I hold the D.I.s in high esteem. A fine bodyof men who did a damn good job. They deserve as much credit forMarine victories as any front line outfit.

On our last day, my personal nemesis, Corp Stone, gave us a storyabout there was nothing personal in his tortuous behavior, that it wasall done to save our lives. I am sure his statement had a ring oftruth to it, but it did make you pause and think, just how much youvalued your life. I see the truth to Machiavelli's crack about powertends to corrupt and absolute power corrupts absolutely. There isalways that small element that does not warrant power over othermen. When I look back at P.I., I get this strange feeling ofpleasure. I guess that Frenchman felt the same way, after he hadwalked over Niagara Falls on a cable, pushing his wife in a wheelbarrel. If you want to live a hundred years, spend l0 weeks onParris Island. There are two things you cannot adequately convey toanother,.. P.I. and pain, thank God.

After combat training in New River, NC we boarded a troop train forSan Diego (A tragic comedy on wheels). We didn't have enough food onboard for the troops. One time the train paused and little blackchildren gathered at the side of the track. We threw money out thewindow and asked them to buy us some chow. I can't remember if weever got the food before the train moved on.. We stopped in asmall town in the middle of Texas for l5 minutes of calisthenics,followed by a ten minute break. We were so hungry, during the breakwe stripped the only grocery store in town. We bought everything thatwas eatable. In minutes the shelves were bare, and the locust weregone. Imagine the memory we must have left with that grocer. Thetrain pulled out and left about twenty Marines running down thetrack. When they caught up with us in San Diego they were throwninto the brig for 5 days on piss & punk (bread & water). Once,while we were rolling, a bum stepped into our car He must have beentraveling between cars or on the roof, Gad was he filthy. I couldn'tbelieve he was human. We withdrew from him as if he was a beast. Wefed him and he disappeared out of the car.

I shipped out of San Diego on the Dutch East Indian freighter,Bloemfontein, on the Marine Corps birthday 10 November l944.The shipwas never equipped to carry troops. Crew made up of little blackguys, from the Island of Java. As we proceeded further and furthersouth, the heat and overcrowded conditions became unbearable. Wetried to escape the heat below, by sleeping on the hatch covers. Inthe moonlight you could watch the rats jump from one body to another.There were only four things you could do on board to pass thetime, read, play cards, shoot dice, or get on the chow line. Afterwe were out a couple of weeks, the guy in the next sack, a cardshark, we called Mr. Lucky, asked me to keep an eye on him, while heslept. He not only had everybody's money, but also had theirwatches. What ever he was doing, he was good at it. He must havenoticed that I slept with one eye open. Mr Lucky had narrowed down theentertainment to reading and the chow line. I remember sitting on thefloor in the head cutting cards for ten dollars a cut with FrankMorganstern. Neither one of us had any money. We had extended eachother an endless line of credit. Neither one of us won any money,but we did lose a lot of time, which was the name of the game.

The smell of fuel oil was memorable. Your uniform took on all theattributes of a greasy, grimy canvas hatch cover. The only wateravailable to wash with was sea water. Our soap and the sea waterdidn't mix. The suds in your hair would turn to gum. Sometimes wewould attach our dirty clothes to a line and throw it over the side,hoping the motion of the wake would remove the dirt.. I remember howwe would crack up when a Marine would forget he had his clothes overthe side and leave it overnight. When he would heave the line in,there would just be a bundle of rags.

Taken off ship in Hawaii for a three hour beer party. Three thousandMarines, charge cases of beer stacked on picnic tables in an openfield. Those who were fleet of foot grabbed as many cases they couldlift and kept on running, disappearing into the boondocks . It was acase of the quick and the sober. It was hilarious, the mother of allhide and seek games. It was the first time I drank that much beer, Igot sick as that old dog, part of me is still in Hawaii.

On to Eniwetok, land of palm trees, without palms. The shell firefrom the Navy prior to a previous invasion had denuded all the treesThe island looked like a hair brush. Convoy bombed off Saipan.Confined below deck during bombing, all hatches battened, felttrapped. It was the last bombing of Saipan. Land on Guam, thirtydays out of San Diego, (now the bum looked well dressed). If therewas ever a ship that deserved a toast it was the Bloemfontein, "BOTTOM UP". I join Charlie Co.. Live in a tent that has beenpitched over fox holes. Five old salts in tent, nice guys, when theylook at me I feel 5 years old. They think I have my Boot hair cut. Ilet a buddy cut my hair aboard ship with a little scissors from asewing kit. I look like I have the mange.

First night on guard at perimeter, I hear wild pigs eating garbage.I think we are about to be overrun. P.I. pays off, I managed tosubdue the urge to spray the area. First week in Charlie I reportto sickbay, Doc. informs me I have Mu Mu ( elephantiasis , a diseasethat caused a severe swelling of the legs and scrotum) and that Ican expect big things, tells me I'm going home. This is deduced frominfection in the groin. Old salts in my tent get hysterical when Itell them. It seems the Div. picked up the disease during theBougainville campaign. A lot of guys were showing up with it, butthere was no way I could have it. Doctor seems disappointed when Itell him, I just arrived from the States. Infection disappears, noneed for wheel barrel to carry scrotum. Beragata Showered inthe rain, (the only fresh water) the trick was to get the soap offbefore it stopped. Led to a lot of humorous scenes. What do you dowhen your standing in the middle of the Co. street, stark naked,covered with soap and God shuts off the shower. Later we put out emptyfuel drums at edge of tent to catch rain water to wash in. Helmetgreat wash basin. Drinking water in Lister bags, (Large canvas bag,holds about 30 gallons, water mixed with heavy dose of Iodine), ithad four spigots, usually set up at center of camp. Each day beforewe would go out on patrol we would stop at the bag and fill ourcanteens. Put bullion cubes in my canteen to kill taste of iodine. Itwas a strange mix, iodine tasted better. At our meals we drank coffeeor concentrated lemon juice mixed with water. We called theconcentrated lemon juice, battery acid. Naturally withoutrefrigeration, it was always warm. It was so caustic that what everwas left after the meal the cooks would use to scour the pots. Backin the states I think they call it Vivid.

My squad gives me a unique initiation ceremony. While out on patrolwe take a break at a particular spot on the trail, and I'm sent out asoutpost. I'm placed in a small clearing, down trail and told to stayalert and warn them if I hear anything. I immediately sit on afallen log and relax. After being there a short time I realize I amnot alone. Flush up against the back of the log I am sitting on, iswhat we would call in those days, a " Nip" (Jap). I first noticehis feet out of the corner of my eye, he is lying on his back. I jumpup and whirl around to look at his face, only to realize he had beendecapitated. It's obvious by the condition of the body, that hehas been dead for some time. After the initial shock I find it moreinteresting than frightening. When I return to the squad I mentionthe corpse to them, nobody seems interested. Later I realize theymust have been watching me make the discovery, and I kind of letthem down. To me he is the enemy, I feel nothing for him. The systemworked.

Heat & rain, most of the time it didn't bother me. One of the mainreasons I joined the Corps, was to make sure I escaped the hated cold,not realizing I was heading for the Parris Island oven.Charlie Co, great bunch, still paling out with old buddy from NewRiver, Sam Morgal. Sam was a good friend, he came from D.C.,a realcharacter, great sense of humor. He was much older than I, aboutthirty two. All Sam ever wanted was a beer and a deck of cards andmy money to lose. He was a great beer drinker and a great cardplayer, but he had trouble doing both at the same time. The guys inthe tent are Howard Clifton ,Bill Rosnick, Walter Clausen, JimmyGaskins, John Aiello, and Sam Morgal. We all came from differentStates, but we had one thing in common, that bound us together. Wewere all suffering and we hated being there. Thank God we all wenta little crazy.

I remember one night we got into our sacks neglecting to turn offthe light, (Taps had sounded but our light was still burningbrightly.) Each guy refused to get up. Each time the guard wouldpass our tent he would yell lights out. No body would move. Abouteleven o'clock, out of no where the Officer of The Day lands in themiddle of our tent floor, screaming attention. Nobody is awake, weall lie there with our eyes bolted closed. We know the first guy whoshows life is going to get nailed. Finally he shakes Sam. Sampretends that he is Lazarus coming forth from the sleep of death.Sam has us all killing our selves holding back the laughter. Finallywe all get up like we are following Sam out of the tomb. TheLieutenant is mad as hell but we swear to him that the whole thingwas just an oversight. I remember the day we chipped in and boughta two tube radio for $ 125 bucks, big money in those days. The nextday we went off to chow and our prize radio went elsewhere. Iremember Jimmy Gaskins would wake up some mornings saying he heardthe whistle of the train that passed on the other side of the cornfield back home. Where I live now, 50 years later, I too hear a trainwhistle at night, and my thoughts go back to Jimmy.

Patrols (eyes & ears used to the maximum), mosquitos had a field day,afraid to take your hands off weapon to brush them off your face.Thirteen men moving in complete silence, ghostlike. Walking thepoint (lead man on patrol, first man to draw fire) was like havingcancer, "why me?" While at point, the silence always tempting you toturn around to make sure you weren't alone. A sustained feeling ofterror and yet the eager tenseness of a football kickoff. Point manupsets beehive, discipline disintegrates, everybody takes off, veryembarrassingly funny. We would try to guess about how long it wouldtake us to actually sweep Guam of Japs, not taking prisoners didn'thelp. They were still coming out 25 years later. For years after thewar I would occasionally spot an article in the N.Y. Times, how 3 or4 of our little brown brothers emerged from the boondocks on Guam.They played war for keeps. They were as tough as they come, a worthyopponent, they could not accept defeat. Jungle ( Adapted totropical habitat, couldn't believe I ever walked on a sidewalk.)

Time takes a holiday, clock stops moving. I can't get used to thenecklaces that two machine gunners are wearing. (Marines wearingnecklaces made up of the gold teeth, that are being taken out of themouths of the dead "Nips"). I realized now that the boy next doorhad the potential to be a hell of a nut. Some of us were(anthropologically speaking) were climbing back up into the trees.I find that the top soil of civilization is very thin. We needed Momwatching us, more than her apple pie. We actually developed a sort ofnew language to express our inner turmoil. Sex was rampart, everynoun was having intercourse. I mean every word used was preceded bythe verb. It was the only way to vent our deep frustration. We allused it, so it must have worked.

Living in a tent with other men taught me an awful lot about love andforgiveness. What I remember most was that who ever moved into ourtent, no matter what kind of personality, we would eventuallyunderstand his faults and love him. We had no problem empathizingwith a tentmate, we all had the same pain inside of us. We werecloser than brothers. A costly bonding, a unique sharing never tobe matched in my life time. (Not ever being in prison.) It has beenmany years but I still have a picture of my squad over my desk. Weeach have a beer in our hand, and a great smile on our face. I thinkwe were all pretty shot. I never saw another picture that displayedmore joy. Sometimes you wonder if it ever happened. It has taken mefifty years to say "It was worth it." When I came back afterthe war I listened to my friends tell these wild stories about theEnglish, French and German and Italian girls. We were sitting at around table at our local Pub, each guy would top the previousseduction. When it came my turn I couldn't think of how to top them,so I decided to tell the truth. "The only woman I ever met orspoke too, was behind a counter in the Marvin House, a PX on Guam.She was about fifty. I'll never forget what I said to her. I turnedon the old charm."Can I please have a Coke?" You know you can tellwhen a woman is about to lose control, it was obvious she wassmitten. I took the coke from her milk white hand. I looked deep intoher eyes, as I said "Thank you,” and walked back into the night.There was no doubt in my mind that she would have been my slave, butI had a war to win. I hope she has forgotten me."

It gets to the point, at night when a mosquito came under the net Iwon't interrupt his dinner. There was no malaria on the Island andit's hot as hell, so we sleep naked, we couldn't care less aboutmosquitos. Our feet were covered with the creeping crawling crud.Our toes look like they are rotting off. Every week the corpsmantries a new dip. My toes have been painted every color of therainbow. Soon as I hit the States an immediate cure takes place.Huge toads all over Guam. No matter where you were in the boondocks,there would be a toad. The constant spraying of DDT killed the foodchain that the toad depended on, hastening his demise. A goodspraying would turn our green dungarees black, I still can rememberthe evil smell of it. Spray planes came over often, while we wereout on patrol, we should have been issued umbrellas. " We have metthe enemy and they are us." I heard years later that the toadswere replaced by giant snails. The latest news is that tree snakeshave killed the snails and decimated all the bird life by destroyingtheir eggs.

It's my nineteenth birthday, I'm out on patrol. Tonight I'llcelebrate by sleeping in a swamp, in the rain. I'll sleep on my backto prevent drowning. Now it's morning, I'm wet, cold, hungry. Welook at each other, and crack up laughing. We are all soaked to theskin, our uniforms are black with water, our hands are wrinkled fromresting in water all night. Why am I laughing? Tom Morgan, a pastmember of a Florida chain gang, has broke down and is crying. Tomwas much older than the rest of us and we thought of him as our rock.There is a time to cry, and that was the time. Of course nobodynoticed or mentioned that Tom had had it.

It is strange hownobody ever seems to catch a cold, despite the hours spend in therain, soaking wet. I had painful asthma attacks from the time I wasnine till I joined the Corps. From the day I left home till thepresent day I never have another attack. My Mother thought that theservice was going to be the death of me. Outside of a few minorscratches I enjoyed marvelous health. I do remember one time when Iwas in the hospital, there was a Marine in a sack opposite mine whowas suspended in mid air by ropes. He told me that shortly after hecame back from the Iwo campaign, he was on the top of his tankscrubbing it down with gasoline, when a passing Marine flipped acigarette butt at the tank. He joked with me, saying he was facinga court marshall when he got out for using gasoline to clean thetank. I don't think he made it out. Most of his skin was gone, whichleft the poor guy looking like a lobster. The pain had to beunbearable. He was what the word cool was all about. Even though hewas flat out he looked real tall to me, man at his best.

Iactually had a bullet land in my lap while sitting in a hole on acombat firing range. It had ricocheted off a tree, hit my helmet thenthe side of the hole then into my lap. I nonchalantly placed it in mybreast pocket and brought it home. I always think of it as mygreatest catch. Served as runner, poor sense of direction. I wasnever lost, always knew where I was, but where the hell was BakerCo. Luck was my North Star. I missed the talent that Phil used, toguide us out of the cattails, down at the old Mill, back home.

We all take a physical prior to Iwo campaign. Doctor tells me I havea heart murmur. I thought I had a ticket home, and it wasn't going tobe on my toe. The Doc. just told me not to run around too much whenI got to Iwo. We both cracked up laughing. The whole 3rdReg.is moving out. My outfit is to board the APA Frederick Funston.We are strung out for miles in full combat gear, preparing to embark.As I reach the top of a rise, I can see the five thousand long snakewinding its way along the coral road the Seabees (Navy ConstructionBattalion) built, were heading for the beach. I wonder how many guysare walking their last mile. Thank God eighteen year olds don't die.It's a long haul to the ship, and I remember how a case of stolenpears relieved the squads thirst on the march. It was extremely hotand everything we owned was on our back or in our seabag. We wouldstick our Kaybars (jungle knife) into a can and suck the juice andthrow the can away with the pears. I realized my James Madison H.S.ring was missing, and it was going to remain somewhere up in thehills, where we had broken camp. That ring belonged to a 17 year oldwho was as missing as the ring.

Everyone knew the campaign was going to be settled on Suribachi. Hewho holds the high ground wins the battle. It was Marye's Heights atFredericksburg, Cemetery Ridge at Gettysburg and it was going to Mt.Suribachi at Iwo Jima. We had a huge plaster mock up of the Islandon deck, and that Mountain looked ominous. We hit that Mt. witheverything that we had. All the heavy stuff off shore, are carrierbased planes, constantly bombed and strafed. All the Marineartillery on the Island was concentrating on it, determined to givecover to the Marines who were going to attempt the ascent. I think itwas the 28th Mar Reg. who initially sent the first platoon of 40 menup. The Fifth Div. had the misfortune to have it in its zone. Someof the guys watched through glasses as the patrol wound there wayup. The climb itself was mysteriously easy, I don't think they tookany losses going up. Finally a cheer went up all over the ship whenwe saw our flag flying in the breeze. Every horn, whistle and bellrang out aboard the ships surrounding the Island. The man in the verycenter of the arena, is the man who carries the colors. A country'sflag represents more than a cause in battle. It's the ultimatewager, life itself, with the odds against you. No man walks tallerthan when he is carrying his flag into a roaring hell. I could neverstomach a flag sewed on a shoulder or pinned to a lapel. God how Iadmire and pray for those thousands of Civil War color bearers S & Nwho served as point,(most exposed position to fire), and died leadingtheir outfits. Of the 40 men who went up only 4 were not killedor wounded by the end of the campaign. The blood poured out on IwoJima was to rank with the baths of Antietam and Gettysburg. On IwoJima, every man was at point. The overall campaign cost was one inthree killed or wounded. Who can comprehend the magnificence of man?I'll always regret not being ordered over the side. I had no ideathat moment would live in history, and a year from that moment Iwould be standing on that very spot. I was one of six Marines theybrought back (randomly picked) for a memorial ceremony. There were acouple thousand service men stationed on Iwo, a year later, but noMarines. We stood at the 3rd Div. cemetery and gazed at the sea ofcrosses. Unforgettable, a good part of our outfit was lying there,no doubt the best. The Chaplain had asked for two altar boys, but weembarrassingly declined. We had no idea what to do. We fired thevolley and walked among the crosses. To the victor had gone themarker. They read 18,18,20,19,21,18,19,19,20, each man a colorbearer, forever young. I spotted old friends from the 21st Mar.whom IÔ knew from, P.I., New River and Guam, Jack Rhett, Bill Egan andEd Stanton. The 21st was camped across the road from us at Guam.There's a saying in the Corps, "If you want to meet a real Marineyou will have to dig for him." I don't think the families reallyunderstood what they did, when they brought all the bodies back, 10years later. Most of my friends had crossed the line, and would havepreferred staying with their brothers, strange but I believe it'strue. They had bonded forever. Our worthy opponents, lay in abarren field nearby, covered over by a bulldozer, marked EnemyCemetery #1. Both forces shared a common epitaph. "Iwo Jima, whereuncommon valor was a common virtue." There was nothing to do thatnight, so we got smashed. It was the worst drunk of my life, I knewI had no right to be there. My buddy and I were crawling on ourhands and knees down the black slanted beach, into the water. We hadno idea where we were going. The Marine with me was a blond crew cutguy, named Fritz from the 9th. He was one of two survivors of hisplatoon, after they had crossed one of the Jap Air Strips. Iremember when I got him back to his sack late that night, instead ofpassing out, he laughed for an hour. It was like an insulinoverdose. All the sailors in the barracks were objecting to thenoise. I don't think he heard them, he was in another world. Upon Chichi Jima,( 150 miles N. of Iwo) in the Bonins, Fritz always hada imaginary dog chasing him. He did it so well that you could hearthe dog bark. They had a term for his condition "Asiatic"(no longersane). It was a great try for a Section 8. (Psychologically unfit toserve). A sad case of the walking wounded, I hope eventually he gothelp. Back on Guam, Apr. of 45 we immediately went on anothersweep of the island, letting our little brown brothers know we wereback, and that the game of hide and seek could once more commence.By August we were ready for the big one. Word was out, we were goingto hit Kyushu, the southern island of the mainland of Japan, in Sept.They had the 3rd Reg. set up to pay its dues. We were going to bethe point Reg., there were no optimists. We were going into a meatgrinder. I return from a problem (Dry run drill) and ready tocollapse on my sack in my tent only to find my brother Dick sittingon it. I didn't know that he was in the Pacific, he had justarrived. It turns out his Seabee outfit is stationed up on Saipan(Island north of us) and he has hitched a ride down to Guam for ashort visit. I tried for a 72 hour pass, to stay with him in aÔSeabee outfit, but I was frozen, too close to Kyushu time, we wereready to go... Dick and I still had a good time, the words had totake a vow of celibacy, (Remove that nasty verb). Back home, wewouldn't even say "damn" in the house.

My school chum, Pep,was my next visitor. He just walked into my tent one day. I thoughthe was in the Atlantic. We celebrated the dropping of the Bombtogether. We thought at the time it was the thing to do. We had noidea of its horror, to us it meant life. He was a radio operator inthe Navy. Pep had just missed a berth on the Indianapolis, theCruiser that went down I think between the Tinian and the Phil. TheIndianapolis had brought the bomb over. Pep and I had gone throughgrammar, and high school together. We were later to attend collegetogether and keep our relationship going for close to sixty years.Pep still is a ball of fire and I see him regularly to this day . Theodd thing was that Pep and I were sitting on the grass on a footballfield lacing on our cleats, preparing to play, when we heard of PearlHarbor. !!!!Some guy suddenly burst into the tent " Hey did you hearthe radio" " They just dropped one hell of a bomb, and a Jap citydisappeared." IN A COUPLE OF DAYS IT WAS OVER!!!!! We were numb! Wecouldn't believe it! Going HOME !!! Pep and I are sharing theclose of the war. I could not believe Pep was in my tent. NaturallyI looked like hell when we met I had just came in out of the field.He looked clean as a whistle and couldn't stop laughing at the sightof me. He had managed, while attending radio school, to stay in thestates for quite a while. Upon the war ending the Corps wasfaced with a hell of a strange problem. There are not enough ships totake the men home. Their moral is starting to slip. What do we do tokeep them busy? They will not stand for any nonsensical drill time.Somebody got a great idea. We will send them all to school. First wewill pick teachers out of the Div.,anybody who can teach any subjectat all, French, Chinese, Basket Weaving, Trigonometry, Algebra, Law,Cooking, Philosophy, History. The next thing we do is make itmandatory that each man attend a class of his choice, or face a workdetail. Thank God this program barely got underway, a few classeswere held, when they called a halt to it. No more teachers, no morebooks, no more teachers dirtyÔ looks, we were off to occupationduty. There was still a lot of islands in the Pacific, held by Japs,at the close of the war, that still had to be demilitarized andoccupied, before we could go home. On Dec.13, l945 The American Flagreturned to the Bonin Islands after 117 years.

I had the pleasure of being a member of a patrolthat went deep into the Jap camp to arrest Matoba. During his trialon Guam, the Guam paper referred to him as "The Tiger of Chichi".It's afternoon there are six of us lying in our sacks in the tent,when the Lieut. enters. "How about six volunteers"? (normally thatis a no,no, but we are bored stiff.) Most of the time on theIsland we are bored stiff. The only thing to do to break up themonotony, outside of ball playing and swimming is whale watching. Wediscover them frolicking outside the bay while on a garbage detail.To past the time we take Jap landing crafts off shore, and just sitout there and watch their antics, gad they were big. One of ourbazooka men says he is tempted to get his weapon and try for somefresh blubber. He thinks it would be an easy shot. He really wantsto nail a whale. I have no doubt he could do it. He manages torestrain himself This patrol, is a straw to grasp at, we aredesperate. We conceal our weapons by putting them in two seabagsalong with our ammo and helmets. We are going to bring in Matoba.

The Japs are not aware that we know that Matoba is responsible forinitiating the cannibalism. The Lieut., Sam, Clausen, Clif, JohnLucas, Sam Hughes and myself, make up the patrol.Ô Because we arealways under Jap observation it is to be a clandestine operation. Weplace our seabags in the bottom of our landing craft, which had aload of garbage on board. We cross the bay to the Jap encampmentdisguised as a unarmed working party. Our dress to be only our helmitliners, dungaree pants and boondockers. Once we were out inthe bay, we duck low and put our weapons together. We want to get inand out fast. Our orders were to rush his house, drag him back tothe boat as quickly as possible, before any action could be taken todefend him, or before he could commit HariªKari, (they were unarmed,we hoped). That just what we do, but there was one hell of hill wehave to run up. The Japs stand on the side of the road wondering whatwe are up to. We hit the house and the Lieut. enters it. I rememberabsolutely nothing of what happened at that house, or of our return tocamp.

Recently I read in the "History of Marine Corps Aviation inWorld War II" by Robert Sherrod a quote from our Col. Rixey ," Aspecial squad fetched Matoba still in his pink bathrobe, from besidehis phonograph. I can faintly remember a Browning Automatic Rifle inmy hands as I came down the hill. I know we were not fired upon.

On occasion I would pull the guard duty on our war criminals. Youwould sit with them in a small shack for a four hour tour. I regrettednot knowing Japanese, it would have been a wonderful opportunity toget their insight on the war, instead it was a very dull guard.Chichi Jima, is located about 150 miles north of Iwo. We were awestruck by its defenses. Nothing previously seen in the Pacific couldcompare with the coast and artillery defenses surrounding the mainChichi harbor, Futami Bay ,the only potential landing area for aninvasion. Concrete emplacements, high in the mountains with steeldoor openings. The emplacements dug into the sides of the mountainswere so plentiful that it gave the Island the appearance of a blockof swiss cheese. They must have worked on the fortifications for atleast 30 years. It was no doubt the Gibraltar of the Pacific.The area were we landed once served as the Japanese sea plane base onChichi Jima. Bonb craters in the ramps, used to haul the planes out ofthe water, testified to the accuracy of our carrier based planes,prior to the surrender. The surface damage on the island was quiteextensive, but it was obvious that we hadn't scratched theirdefenses, which were expertly concealed underground and in the sidesof the mountains. Once we got on the Island we found stairs hiddenin the base of the mountains, leading to the emplacements. The gunsin these emplacements were humongous, how they placed them there musthave been one tough job. The location of many of the emplacementsindicated that the Jap plan was to permit an entrance into the harboror onto the airfield, then to give us the "works". We found tunnelsthat led to huge ammo and fuel dumps in side of mountains. Thesetunnels were large enough to drive a large truck in about 100 yards.Large generators the size of trailers were concealed under theground, surrounded by thick concrete. We all agreed that thewhole Corps would have bought it on Chichi. Iwo was hell, Chichiimpossible. Sailing into that bay, we should have been kneeling onthe deck thanking God that we passed this one up. I do notexaggerate. There was one huge cave,(100 yards deep, 10 yardswide) lined with copper sheathing. This cave was meant to store theJapanese archives, when and if the main Japanese Islands wereoccupied. I heard very recently from a native of the Island that,that particular cave was used to store atomic bombs during theKorean action. Japan would not allow the bombs on the mainland.

We attempted to salvage the copper. While we were useing smalljackhammers to remove the rivets, holding the copper plating together,several of us collapsed and fell off the scaffolding. We didn't knowwhat the hell was going on, till it dawned on us, the generatordriving our jackhammers, at the mouth of the cave, were pumpingcarbon monoxide in. We carried the guys out and shut down theoperation. To give you an example of what boredom will drive youto, I'll tell you about an incident that happened during a 5 manpatrol of Haha Jima, a near by island. We were taken to Haha by aDestroyer Escort that waited off shore while we went onreconnaissance. We were put a shore just to check out what the Japgarrison had left on the Island. We had removed those who had beenstationed there, to Chichi. It was a beautiful island and beingthe only ones on it, it gave us a feeling of ownership. As we werepassing through a valley on the far side of the Island we noticed ahuge cave in the side of the mountain bordering the valley. It wassubway tunnel size, big, those boys liked to dig. Inside we found aseveral thousand drums of kerosene. We had no orders to destroyanything of this magnitude. We didn't hesitate for a second, "Let'sblow it." We punched holes in one of the drums and rolled it out tothe mouth. We lit the fuel, no good, the ground was to damp. Wefound a shack nearby, dismantled it, and used the wood to construct awick, that we strung deep into cave. We soaked it down with anotheropen drum , lit it and took off. We waited and waited and nothing,ten minutes. It was time to separate the optimist from thepessimist. We were all nuts, we went back in hoping it wasn't goingto blow in our face. Same operation, we lit it, and away we went.WHOOSH!! The daddy of all Zippos, came shooting out of the mouth ofthe cave, with a hugh thunderous roar it crossed the valley, and hitthe opposite side. We were jumping, and yelling, and laughing. NoCorps, no parents, we were kids again. We kept moving andafter a couple of hours we were climbing back aboard ship.

As we hitthe deck, Capt. Moriority asked "What the hell did you guys do overthere." as he pointed back to the Island. The whole of Haha Jima hada thick black cloud hovering over it. Sam quickly rose to theoccasion. "We burned a Jap landing craft loaded with tires." " Boylook at that smoke" The Capt. kept looking at the cloud, as we beatit below deck. We were on Chichi about two months when wereceived orders to detach half our number for China duty. It seemedthat the Chinese communist were attacking the trains around theTientsin area in north eastern China and some Marines were needed.One billion Chinese and they needed 250 homesick Marines. They askedfor volunteers. None of us had liberty for almost two years or more,here was the opportunity at last. It would be the closest we had evercame to civilization (read that women), for a hell of a long time.The only hitch was that we might stay overseas a little longer. Thatnight the outfit stayed up to the wee hours, each man pondering ifhe had one more great adventure in him. I still had wanderlust, andboredom was always a thorn in our side. I knew this would be my onlyopportunity to see China. In those days China was a long way from theStates.

The guys in the tent argued with Sam all night, tryingto convince him to stay. Sam was a little elf, who could make youlaugh and always had a story to tell. He was about 33 years old andvery homely. He was honest with us, he told us that his social lifeback home in D.C. was nil and it wasn't going to get any better. Hehad never had any luck with the ladies. This was the opportunity ofhis life time: woman, wine, and song. I remember how Sam wouldgamble his salary away on pay day, and then wake me up in the middleof the night so I could give him mine to lose. There was nothing todo with the money anyway. He looked like a little old man lost in aMarine uniform. There was nothing to him. What he lacked in size, hemade up with a fantastic personality. Everybody felt like they had tolook after him. His real name was Bill. He had made such a productionof going over the obstacle course down in New River, N. C., welabelled him " Sam, Sam, the Obstacle Man." Sam left. We missedhim, I still do.

One day we woke up to find a large supply shipfrom the States in the bay. Word went out that it was loaded withrefrigerated stores. We hadn't had fresh food since we came to thePacific.. Our diet had been made up of powdered eggs, dehydratedpotatoes, Spam. cheese and tins of Australian mutton, plus all the C& K rations you could stomach, (assortment of canned food). Thedrink was usually coffee, powdered milk, or battery acid. Onemorning, on Guam we went into shock at breakfast, when they servedeach man 1/2 of a fried egg. We had traded a Samurai sword to aSeabee cook for the eggs. The Seabee camps always had refrigeration.All day long we were hustling from ship to shore, unloading tonsof fresh food. Plus a mountain of beer, Coke and Chocolate Cow. Thefresh food was made up of cases of steaks, turkeys, grapefruit andoranges. I can't remember the rest of the ships manifest, butoutside of the beverages, it was all fresh. We had cases and casesof turkey and steaks piled on the beach. Mountains of oranges &grape fruit. I don't know what the opposite of scurvy is, but itlooked like we were about to die from it. The ship left the next day,leaving us with one hellÔ of a problem. They had left us enoughfresh food to last a Reg. (5,000 men) 2 or 3 months. We hadapproximately 200 men. I don't remember if this episode happenedbefore of after the Tientsin detachment had left, it wouldn't havemade a difference. The problem being we didn't have an ice cube onChichi. One big SNAFU, (Situation Normal All Fouled Up). We triedstoring the food in caves, but it didn't look too good. There wasonly one thing we could do, and that was to set a new high forgluttony. Never had so few eaten so much. Just use your imaginationwhat the next two weeks were like on that Island. We gorgedourselves day and night. We would build fires on the beach at nightand have beer and steak parties. We were having turkey for breakfast,lunch and supper. We were having steak for breakfast lunch andsupper. We were having steak for breakfast, turkey for lunch andsteak for supper. We were having turkey for breakfast, steak forlunch, and turkey for supper. Finally thank God, we noticedthe steak and turkey were turning blue, and the oranges andgrapefruit were putting on fur coats. We just couldn't eat anymore.We hadn't made a dent in that mountain. All the meat and fruit in thecaves, were now rotten. Ever smell rotten turkey? "WHEW". We endedthe eating orgy by taking the remaining, nine tenths of the shipmentout into the bay and dumping it. It wasn't that easy. the next dayit was all over the beaches. We finally ended up burying it. Thewhole episode lasted about two weeks, then it was back to basics,powdered eggs, dehydrated potatoes etc. The beer, coke andChocolate Cow we put to good use: there was only a small supply offresh water on the Island. We had brought a small distillation plantwith us to provide us with a limited amount of fresh water.

At home they call that tale,"Dad's Thanksgiving Daystory". If I'm lucky, and there is a guest at the table, the familyonce more is forced to hear why Dad doesn't like turkey.

Theepisode of cannibalism did not help slacken the hate we already hadmustered toward the guys who now own Rockefeller Center. The lobotomywas still in place, we could not understand why we should stop hatingthem. You can't just hold up a sign.. If it was that simple therewould be no bigotry. This war crime was not am isolated case, manyeven more horrible crimes committed against Jap prisoners are stillcoming to light. The N.Y. Times 1994. published a list of crimesadmitted to by the Japanese, which actually topped the Naziatrocities in its viciousness. All sorts of barbaric vivisectionoperations wereÔ performed on their prisoners, for the purpose ofscientific research. Our government in exchange for this researchknowledge did not prosecute the doctors who executed these acts.These unpunished war criminals are still practicing medicine inJapan.

When we first arrived on Chichi, the Marine enlistedmen would be assigned small working party's of Japs. We would takethem into the hills to destroy gun installations, ammo and fueldumps. We would also use them to do all the menial task about thecamp. Some of us were too tough on them, but not any harder then theD.I.'s were on us. Hatred for the foe was deeply embedded in us.Some of us, rather enjoyed breaking their humps. I think it gave alot of guys a good night sleep when they got home. Not nice but true.There was never a hint of any sort of atrocity committed. Thisonly lasted a short time, the Jap General complained to ourCommanding Officer, Col. Rixey. We were no longer permitted Nipworking parties, this really boiled us. What's the fun of winning awar.(CONTINUED HERE...)CLICK-HERE!!!!!~~~~~~~~~~This is...Gunny G's... GLOBE and ANCHORMarines Sites & ForumsBy R.W. "Dick" GainesGny Sgt USMC (Ret.)1952-'72Semper Fidelis~~~~~~~~~~Note:GyG's G&A Sites & Forums is an informational site and not for profit. Copyrighted material provided soley for education, study, research, and discussion, etc. Full credit to source shown when available.~~~~~